


Universe Day

by citrusella



Series: Happy Steven's Day! [2]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: (Steven is on his road trip and comes back to Beach City to visit Greg), (sort of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Conversations, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Mother's Day, Post-Episode: s06e20 The Future, but it's, poison oak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella
Summary: "Being your dad is the only present I reallyneed."Or: Greg and Steven talk and realize their experiences with Mother's Day have been two sides of the same coin.
Relationships: Greg Universe & Greg's Parents, Greg Universe & Steven Universe
Series: Happy Steven's Day! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741903
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66
Collections: Steven Universe Completed Recommended Reads, lofi fanfics to practice social distancing to





	Universe Day

**Author's Note:**

> Circle of inspiration ahoy!
> 
>   * This is a direct sequel to something I wrote after A Single Pale Rose aired, since it was right up against Mother's Day (and there was a frighteningly on-point Hallmark card at the time), called [You Deserve All the Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681472).
>   * This takes story elements from a fic I wrote recently called [Stairwell Solitude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998276), though it paints a darker picture of Greg's parents than that fic... and finally...
>   * I feel it important to mention here (because I forgot to mention it in Stairwell Solitude) that Stairwell Solitude was influenced by a "Greg's life with his family" fic I wrote early in my SU fic writing, back in 2016, called [Left](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8588380).
> 

> 
> This fic feels all over the place, but in a good way. XD

When it came time for Steven's regular Friday call, Greg answered with a bright tone.

"Hey, bud!"

Steven's voice seemed to mirror the light in his father's. "What's up, dad? Did I catch you busy or relaxing?"

"Actually, I was just thinking of you!"

"Heh, do you do that a lot?"

Greg snorted. "Not any more than is healthy. So, you know, like, once an hour or so!"

Steven let out a giggle.

"But really, Schtu-ball, I remembered Steven's Day is coming up! Where you think you're gonna be that day?"

At the mention of their makeshift Mother's Day replacement, Steven's voice seemed to quiet. "…Actually, I was planning on popping into Beach City. Like, short-term, I mean. I'm in Califarmland right now, but I think there's a warp pad near where I'll end up, so I can leave the car here and take a couple of essentials with me to Delmarva." Greg heard him take a breath on the other end. "I… um… actually think I… have to talk to you about something."

"Oh, man, what is it? Is it serious?" Had he lost something important? His keys? His credit card? _His innocence?!_

"I… um… think it'd be better to discuss in—" he cleared his throat, "—in person."

"Oh. Um. Okay." Greg rubbed the back of his head, still keenly aware so many months later of the jarring shortness of the hair there.

Steven tried to shift the conversation to less heavy, mysterious topics, and Greg followed suit, but the looming _discussion_ left a weight on the call that didn't go away, even after he had hung up.

Greg guessed he'd know what _that_ was all about by the end of the weekend.

* * *

Greg was home alone making a ham sandwich, the gems on a Little Homeschool field trip and due to return early morning in time for Steven's Day, when Steven warped in late Saturday afternoon.

"Hey, I wasn't expecting you until—" Greg let his happy words die when he took in his son's unkempt appearance, much more "lost boy of Neverland" than "world-weary traveler".

There were burrs stuck to parts of his jacket and a twig sticking out of his hair. His face somehow looked dusty, oily, and sweaty all at once. His shoes, feet, and lower pant legs were muddy, and twisted through the thong of Steven's flip-flop, Greg spotted what looked like—

"Geez, Schtu-ball, what'd you do, wade through poison oak?" He instinctively took a step backward at the sight of one of the types of leaves whose appearance he'd kept memorized for his own safety since the summer before sixth grade, even though Steven was well over 10 feet away from him.

"Um… maybe? The warp pad was further into the woods than I thought it would be? I had to go _way_ off trail to get to it. And it was kind of dark, especially with the tree shade, since a storm was rolling in right before I warped so I'm not entirely sure what exactly I forced my way through. I'll… I'll probably be fine, right?" Steven sighed. It wasn't an "I'm fine", but it was similar enough that the assertion caused him to tense up all the same. At least this time it wasn't so much hiding a clear and present problem than hoping there just wouldn't be one.

Hope was okay. He took another breath out and tried to relax his shoulders.

Greg frowned. "…I mean, there's a chance, but, like, most people are allergic to it, bud. If it's anything like the way I reacted to poison ivy back when I was in scouts…" He winced, remembering how it had been severe enough that the troop leader had called off the weekend-long trip a day early and taken him to an ER, his parents showing up unceremonious and unsympathetic to scold him for his lack of attention to the woodland flora (never mind that he was coming down from a _life-threatening reaction_ or anything) and threatening to take him out of the one activity they'd pushed him into that he didn't hate.

…He had to physically shake the memory out of his head to regain focus on the present.

"Or heck, even if it's just like your pollen allergy but… poison oak-ish, then… it's not looking good. For all I know your spit can heal it, but that's a bridge I think we should cross when we come to it. Definitely not before you get cleaned up." His voice came down concerned and nothing less than 100% serious. No ending up with it spreading to his hands or tongue or whatever—if it wasn't already there—from an errant application of healing essence on Greg's watch.

Steven grimaced and looked down at the plant with three wavy leaves that had hitched a ride on his foot thong thingy.

"Well, no time like the present. Go rinse that off as much as you can in cold water, wash it with soap _really well_ ; I'll go get some of the clothes you forgot in the dryer before you headed off so you're not down a set while we get any oil off those…" Greg set out a bag meant for his son's soiled clothes and then paused, having almost forgotten. "And then once everything's settled, we can talk about whatever you came to talk about."

Steven, having also forgotten in the fright of the moment, clenched his jaw, grabbed the bag, and headed to the bathroom.

* * *

A thorough rinse, shower, and change of clothes later—Dad had brought him a set of day clothes and an old pair of pajamas that had still fit but he'd decided to leave behind, and he figured 8:30 was late enough to opt for the pajamas—he was stepping his now-bare feet up the steps to his old room.

Dad on the bed, reading what appeared to be an old book from his storage unit, looked up as the stairs creaked to herald the arrival of his son. Steven hopped onto the lived-in mattress beside his dad, allowing himself to float into position for a bit of added flair.

Dad smirked. "Bit showy, don't you think?"

"Eh, nothing wrong with showing off now and again, right?" Dad gave a serene smile, satisfied in his son's confidence, and nodded an affirmative as Steven examined his clean feet. "And hey, I look completely fine!"

"Steven, you probably won't see any effects for like 12 hours, maybe even a day," he said, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact and calm in the face of a teenager who had apparently never read about poison oak, much less had a reaction to it.

The boy's eyes bugged out. "What?!"

"Yeah, it takes a bit to—" taking in his son's freaked out expression, he dialed back, "okay, you know what? We can focus on that later! Let's… focus on what you came here for. Which was… what, exactly?"

Steven's eyes narrowed and he glanced between his lower body, his phone, and the bedspread. "I'm sorry, hang on, just gotta let my mind get off the subject that my skin's _apparently a ticking time bomb_?!"

He took a few deep breaths, then, as if to say he was ready to focus on the task at hand, looked Dad square in the eye. Or, well, in the nose. Steven did that a lot. Greg had caught on years ago. Same diff.

"I gotta—" A sigh. So this wasn't easier in person than he'd anticipated it being through a phone. "So… I was thinking because it's… so tomorrow is Steven's Day, but we both know it was Mother's Day first and—" Huff.

"—Maybe it's bad to ask and if it is I'm sorry and—"

"Steven. Not to be pushy, but where are you going with this?"

"—What's Mother's Day like for you? Or… I mean… what _was_ it like for you? Back when you lived in West Keystone… that is."

Oh. "…Oh."

**— _Oh._**

"I…" Greg sighed and shifted in place. "I was so happy two years ago when the gems and I came up with Steven's Day for you, you know? It was… nice to see you happy about that day for once. It made _me_ happy about it for the first time in a long time."

"It wasn't happy at your house? You didn't… like it?" Steven frowned and rubbed one forearm.

"I always did stuff for my mother, but," he hummed, "it was different than how other families spent Mother's Day. I don't think I realized that until I was in fifth grade and heard a friend mentioning how they were going to spend that day and thought it seemed _so weird_ for it to sound so easy."

"Why wasn't it e—I," Steven ruminated for a moment on the meaning of Greg's words. "What did you do, at your house? If you don't—"

"—It's fine, kiddo. As soon as my parents thought I was old enough, my mother had a list of things she was going to have me to make for breakfast in bed. At first it was really simple stuff, and I thought it was cool I got to actually make something more substantial for her than macaroni art like in my kindergarten class… but then it was like it turned into this… expectation. Well, for all I know, it was an expectation that first year, too, and I was just too enamored with the pride of responsibility or whatever."

Steven wanted to say something, but Dad didn't seem done.

The older man laughed a humorless laugh, the façade of his usual anger at his folks falling. "I remember when I was eight, I accidentally served her stale toast, and orange juice I didn't know had started to spoil. The rest of the breakfast was fine, but she got so _angry_ , kept going on about how she made 2, even 3, meals a day, 7 days a week but I couldn't handle one measly one a year." His tone faltered, and his face wore a look of genuine, old, pushed-down-and-hidden hurt. "She acted like I'd tried to poison her."

Silence fell on the room, but just briefly, as Greg finished. "I made sure not to make that mistake again." Steven had never heard him sound so resigned.

After a long few moments, Steven breathed out barely a word. "I—"

"Steven, most of the time it wasn't that bad. Just controlling. _Too_ controlling. Stifling. …Toxic. But—it—"

"You were eight."

Steven's breath picked up, just a few hairs under full-on hyperventilation. It wasn't entirely clear whether he was getting worked up or trying to avoid doing so. "Schtu-ball, really, it's—"

"You were eight and you made her breakfast and she just yelled at you, she didn't even thank you for trying!" His voice was raw, angry, and had he been in a slightly different headspace, he probably would have been on the edge of turning bright pink.

Greg's face, downcast, examined the sewing of the duvet. "…I know."

Steven, apparently having realized something about his response, took a deep breath and held it in for several moments before pushing it out. "I guess when I said you were just like Mom, I was right, just not in the way I thought it was. You… Mom had the suped-up alien version; you had the stupid, how-could-anyone-treat-their-kid-that-way human version."

Greg waited several seconds to respond, and when he did, it was nothing but a simple, "Yeah."

No elaboration, no stories about anything else they did, anything else he went through…

Just… yeah.

The weight of the topic finally fell to rest on the room, neither father nor son brave enough to disturb it, until Greg cut through it again, his tone warmer, trying to shine sun into the darkening room.

"But that's part of why it felt good to have a reason to be happy that day and do things for someone because _I_ thought it'd be nice. It felt good to see _you_ happy these past few years, not spending the day focused on your mom and what you might do for her and how she's…" he cleared his throat, "not here anymore. Or anything she might have done. To just… spend the day on _you_. We could both have the day back. For us." He rustled his boy's hair, earning a groan out of the 16-year-old.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I had more stuff I wanted to ask about, but I guess what's important isn't what we would have done, it's what we're doing now." His voice was solemn but somehow… lighter, as if a weight was gone from his shoulders.

Greg breathed a level breath. "I mean, if you have more questions, now's the time to ask 'em. We've already gotten ourselves nice and emotionally vulnerable." He let out a short chortle, Steven following suit before following it up with a head shake.

"Most of the rest of them really weren't important, except—"

"Except what?"

Steven steeled himself and tried his best to ask the question succinctly… which obviously meant he failed one word in. "Do… _gah_ , I don't wanna call them my grandparents if I've never even met them, but calling them 'Mr. and Mrs. Demayo' feels too stranger-y, and saying 'your mom and dad' feels _weird_ for some reason—"

"—If it helps, their names are Susan and Ernest," Greg added quietly. Steven folded in this new revelation as his father made a point to examine his fingernails.

"Do… _Susan and Ernest_ …" he pursed his lips as if evaluating the taste of the words in his mouth and decided it would have to do, "do they… know about me?"

Greg took a deep breath in and let it out slow, turning the question over in his head.

"Honestly? I don't know. I… wrote to them. About you. A letter, right after you were born." Steven turned this information over in his head, brow furrowed. "Told 'em how much you'd changed my life in just a week. Sent a picture of you and me and everything. But I don't know if they even read it. I wouldn't put it past them to—"

Steven's eyes widened.

"—They didn't."

"…What?"

"Well, I _think_ they didn't. When you broke into their house. Before I knew who lived there, I was gonna write an apology note." Greg's eyes softened at his son's never-ending desire to look out for others. "I… found a bunch of letters from you in a drawer while I was looking for a pen. They'd never been opened."

"Ah. Hmm." Greg sounded just a little let down, but mostly it seemed he just expected something like this.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

Greg cocked an eyebrow. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I just meant that, like… I guess I mean you shouldn't have had to live with that. But I guess also that I'm sorry for the way I acted, back on the road trip before… everything. All I could see was the meatloaf and yearbook and the nothing-ever-happens life, and I never stopped to consider it was more complex than that."

"Hey, I don't blame you. I wasn't exactly Mr. Open Book, and you were going through a lot—you're _still_ going through a lot—and I maybe didn't say the right things at the time. …But we're doing better now, right?"

"Yeah! _We're_ actually talking about things, and the gems always wanna check in and see how I'm doing, and therapy's going… _weirdly_ great lately—like okay, not like it's _happy_ or whatever, it's just been way helpful, more than usual, the past few weeks—and oh! I have so many pictures of all the places I've been, like _so many_ more than I've sent you, we should look at them—wait, maybe we could save that for tomorrow? If you're interested? Maybe tomorrow isn't Steven's Day, it's… Universe Day? Yeah! Maybe we could do what _you_ want to do. Any trips you wanna take? Restaurants you wanna eat at? Something big for the inaugural day?" He played at jabbing a friendly elbow toward his dad with a smile.

"Eh, I'd be content with lunch at the fry shop and a trip for replacement shoes for you, 'cause I don't think we can wash your flip-flops in the washer and you'd probably be better off with closed-toed shoes when you warp back anyway. Unless you're feeling brunch or going somewhere fun with me and the gems like we've done the past couple years—I know the Crab Shack's still serving that cake." At Steven's playful crinkle of his nose, Greg clarified with a chuckle, "The same _type_ of cake, not literally the _same_ cake, Schtu-ball." Steven laughed, the only thing marring the image of a two-year-old cake being his knowledge, from after he helped bubble the Cluster, of exactly what that would _smell_ like.

Greg put a finger to his chin and continued. "Or maybe you won't be feeling anything but uncomfortable, if the poison oak hits you bad enough. Which, for the record, is fine. Being your dad is the only present I really _need_." He put an arm around his son's shoulder and gave him a warm, fatherly grin.

Steven looked down at his pure, unmarked skin once more, having almost put it out of mind. "Still looks fine to me. I bet you're overreacting."

* * *

Steven's eyes ripped open promptly at the crack of dawn, legs squirming and feet kicking to get the blanket off. Greg, never one for a consistent sleep schedule, had already been awake for an hour or so, jamming quietly on his guitar—until Steven's sudden shout went so far as to cause him to snap the string he'd been tuning.

"Daaad! I've made a horrible mistake! You weren't overreacting!" Greg spared a glance to survey the extent of the damage and grimaced sympathetically at the sight, putting his guitar to his side and rising to his feet.

"—Uh. Okay, try your spit, and I'll see what I've got in the medicine cabinet! Then we'll go from there!" he said, descending the stairs briskly but doing so with care so as to not trip. 

Some start to the very first Universe Day, he supposed.

Still, he got to be with Steven for it, and that was what mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had a good May 10, whether you celebrate Mother's Day, something else, or nothing at all! o.o


End file.
